


The Winner Takes It All

by Crow_Dust



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crow_Dust/pseuds/Crow_Dust
Summary: Lewis remembers Monza with its indescribable atmosphere, the crowd buzzing like a beehive under the podium, confetti, and Charles Leclerc’s smile.
Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	The Winner Takes It All

**Author's Note:**

> It was written in October 2019, which is very noticeable in the work itself (all sorts of hints and the fact that I didn't mention Charlotte's name because it wasn't so official then, but we all knew). And yeah, I will sink with this ship because they deserve it.  
> All possible mistakes are mine. Sorry :)

Lewis remembers the first time Charles allowed him to touch his body.

He remembers Monza with its indescribable atmosphere, the crowd buzzing like a beehive under the podium, confetti, and Charles Leclerc’s smile. He remembers the tension radiating from Charles, his intoxicating emotions and adrenaline, all the euphoria of his victory, mixed into an intoxicating cocktail of sensations. He remembers kissing the champagne off his skin, how he laughed and reached under his t-shirt, how his hands pressed down on his shoulders, forcing Lewis to his knees. The winner takes it all.

There were two winners that night.

In Singapore, these are two deceived people who seek comfort in each other. Kisses are bitter, touches burn, and the taste of ash on the tongue. We win together and we lose together.

In Russia, Lewis stands on the top step of the podium for the first time since the summer break. Charles is on his left, and Lewis can see how he looking at the trophy, but there is a slight smile on his lips as they clink champagne bottles.

After the press conference, they collide in the bathroom, and their eyes cross in the mirror. Charles is angry at himself, Vettel, the team, the whole world, but not at _him_. Lewis is surprised and confused, and perhaps this is reflected in his face, because the next moment he is pushed towards the booth, being kissed so hard that his knees shake. He jerks him off quickly, sharply, and hard. Charles bites his lip in retaliation, and it drives Lewis insane. The smell of Charles's skin is dizzying, as are his eyes — strangely detached, but there is a fire at the very bottom of them. He inhales his scent, filling his lungs, and with a low moan, he comes, burying his face in Charles’s neck.

And Lewis doesn't want to be bothered by the way Charles twists out of his arms, straightens his clothes, and walks out of the booth as if brushing off what's happened — everything that was going on between them.

Win and lose together? There was only one winner today.

In Monaco, Lewis wakes up in his bed with wet, crumpled sheets. He still has vague images of what he was dreaming. Body movements, hot whispers, those devious green eyes and cute dimples.

Lewis’ hand reaches for the phone. The two blue marks next to his message stare at him mockingly.

He lets out an exasperated breath and looks at the ceiling. This child is playing a very dangerous game with him. And Lewis feels that he is losing, but doesn’t admit it to himself or to Charles.

He doesn't even notice that his hand is under the elastic band of his pajama shorts. Lewis wants to see Charles beneath him, on myself, with myself. _Close_. This simple thought sends shivers down Lewis’ spine. He was mired in it. _In him_. Charles at some point became a part of his life, not just a colleague, not just a pretty face that is nice to look at, and he doesn’t want to lose it just by achieving it.

The name comes out of his mouth as he comes, and at the same time, the light from his phone's indicator flashed across the periphery of his vision.

Winners take everything, don't they?

Switzerland is fresh, sunny and noisy. Lewis’s eyes ache from the lights and his head is a little buzzing from the champagne he's drunk, but Lewis is reveling in tonight among his fans and fashion elite. Later this evening, his hotel room meets him with semi-darkness, coolness and blissful silence. He dreams of a hot bath, a warm body at his side, and involuntarily snorts at this thought. His age comes out of nowhere.

Lewis is just leaving the bathroom when he hears a cautious knock on the door, followed by a muffled familiar voice. Lewis is confused and opens the door by inertia. His eyes cling to the red hoodie he thought he'd lost after the Russian Grand Prix. The loss was found, and with the person who had occupied his thoughts.

When did it become more than just about sex? When did Charles stop being just a charming face that lets out his claws not only on the track, but also in bed?

Charles hisses and outrages when Lewis leaves a mark. But he just smiles and licks the salty sweat from Charles’ hot skin, making him more comfortable on his thighs. Charles snuggles closer, impatiently pulling the open robe off Lewis’s shoulders. Young, hungry and demanding — this cocktail alone blows your head off.

Sebastian said at the airport that he felt Lewis’s influence in Charles’s latest actions, which he only waved off. Now he wants to laugh. Lewis buries his face in Charles’ neck, putting his hands under his hoodie, but he doesn't take it off — he likes the idea that Charles is wearing something that belongs to him. If he can't own _him_.

“What's so funny?"

“I didn't expect to see you today."

Charles snorts, but doesn't answer the unspoken question that has been hanging in the air since he entered the room. Charles is charming in his denial of the inevitable. In this they are similar. However, he may still be more honest than he wants to appear.

He squirms uncomfortably under Lewis's gaze and wants to remove the disturbing item of clothing.

"No, don't take it off," Lewis almost snarls and squeezes his wrists so hard that they bruise, and he is surprised at his own reaction.

Charles freezes. For a moment, something dangerous flashed in his eyes, but then a charming smile bloomed on his lips that boded no good.

He wants to believe that this was a handicap on his part, but in reality he gave Charles carte blanche, which Lewis didn’t know how or when he would dispose of. The unknown is both frightening and fascinating, increasing the degree of what is happening between them. He is ready to be led, so he doesn’t resist and sinks down on the sheets when Charles presses on his chest. He also needs to be able to lose. Sometimes it’s worth sacrificing a piece to win the game. It speaks of experience and the composure acquired over the years of intense struggle.

Charles is still eager, young and inexperienced when it comes to mind games of this level, but Lewis admires his potential. The guy will break a lot of hearts and make countless enemies, but he will do it with his seductive smile. Lewis wants to watch this from the front row, so he is nobly ready to take him under his wing and direct him in the right direction, giving him a sense of all the facets of the championship’s winner life. He and the nobility? We all have a vested interest, don't we?

Lewis grins at Charles's phone, which is ringing for the fourth time in the last half-hour, while he himself sleeps at his side, exhausted, disheveled, but happy. _Honey, you can't hide the fake brilliance of your "victory" from a dirty game, but you can't wash down the sour aftertaste with champagne._

Lewis reaches for the phone and turns it screen down as his arms are wrapped around Charles and he is held him closer. He leans back against the pillows, and Charles immediately clings to his body, nuzzling his neck and muttering something in French in a half-dream, while Lewis traces the patterns on his back with his fingers.

Winners take everything. And even more.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: nathanieldewalde.


End file.
